


Damn La la la

by MistDream23



Category: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Memories that hurt, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:49:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistDream23/pseuds/MistDream23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Too damn, too bloody late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn La la la

**Author's Note:**

> Written on a bus trip, just a ANGST scene that crossed my mind while listening to Illusion - VNV Nation. Sad. Angst.   
> You've been warned.

John looked outside. 

The window was covered with a thick layer of dust, but Mrs Hudson was not to be blamed. The cause was not her absence. Not hers.

The empty couch still smelled like Him. Chemicals, Thai food, tea.   
John could ever hear the violin playing, but it was far, a distant sound.

La.

La la la.

La laa la. 

It was familiar, a song he had listened to before. 

Sh-... He used to play different songs, depending on his lever of boredom or the point at where the case were. But, sometimes, between Bach and Tchaikovsky a song would slipped; suddenly it was being played. Sweet but strong, gentle but confident. Trustful. Adventurous. He used to play it with a passionate delicacy, while John would stared at his chest going up and down in compass with the sound, how He would close his turquoise irises, the soft dance His swift, slender body would made. 

It was funny, John thought, He only played it when we were in the same room. Never heard it at three in the morning, or from the stairs when he went up back from the hospital. 

Only when the two of them were together. 

Oh. 

 

He... He composed it. For me.   
He played it for me.  
Our song.

A gift. 

And he never noticed, John's inner self remind him. 

But it was too late. 

 

Too damn, too bloody late. 

 

Too late, to smile at that bastard, hold Him in his arms, and thank him. For the song. For being there.  
For letting him love him. 

 

La.

La la la.

La laa la.


End file.
